


DriftwcDd and roeou 

Cajfy F.Jacob 






Cbiss r^uD 



C -^ rf':^ 




COPYRKiHT DEPOSIT. 



DRIFTWOOD AND FOAM 



BY 

GARY F. JACOB 

W 




BOSTON 

SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 

1914 






m -5 1914 



Copyright, 1914 
Sherman, French & Company 



>CI.A37C:187 



^» 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

An August Night 1 

Lancelot to Guinevere 9 

An Opium Dream 11 

A Child's Address to the Deity . . .12 

Altissima 13 

The Violin at Evening 14 

Daydreams 15 

Precocity 16 

To MY Mother . 17 

Requiescat 18 

Little Girl 19 

I Sought a Path that I had Known in 

Childhood 20 

To THE Blue Ridge Mountains . . . . 21 

Jerusalem^ Accursed 22 

Somehow 23 

Summer's Asleep 24 

It is Rest that I Ask 25 

Strange Incense 26 

Are We TO Blame ? 27 

October 28 

The Burden of Conscience 29 

I DO NOT Fear the Rough Wind's Might . 31 

The Mocking Bird 32 

Driftwood and Foam 33 

Her Love 34 

With the Tide 35 

Before the Wind 36 

A Valentine 37 



PAGE 

Idols 38 

When I have Seen your Eyes Aglow . . 89 

Life's Way 40 

His Father Plans 41 

The Bishop Argues a Point 44 

Rain in the Streets 47 

At the City's Gate 48 

Our Minstrel 50 

After Fifty Years 52 

A Hymn of Conquest .54 

There Hangs a Veil 58 

Pere 59 



DRIFTWOOD AND FOAM 



AN AUGUST NIGHT 

The sultry, humid moon looks down o'er 

fields 
Of ripening corn, whose tassels bend beneath 
Their fecund pollen-weight and shake the golden 
Powder thickly o'er the filling ears. 
A line of hazy blue marks where the mist 
Arises from a little, sullen stream, 
Too weak of hope to babble to itself, 
Too weak of will to struggle toward the sea. 
Within the pool the frogs croak drowsily. 
Or from the bank with sudden splash drop in. 
Shaking an echo gently through the reeds. 
The whippoorwill calls low, monotonous. 
Then rises in the air to sink again 
To earth with half-spread wings. Dim stars 

and few 
Glow in the northern sky, Andromeda 
And the Great Bear, the Cross and Pegasus, 
While in the south, alone the constellation 
Sagittarius still holds its watch. 
A night when lovers should not stray abroad. 
When kisses scorch the lips on which they fall ; 
A night too still for sleep, too passionate 
For dreams. No breeze to waft the thought 

away 
From sensuous things, and yet enough to fan 
The cheek and set imagination's course 



[1] 



Across the wood and on toward where a glow, 
Too faint to call a light, hangs in the east, 
A pale excrescence such as comets leave 
Behind, when from their bodeful paths they 

turn 
Aside to flash upon the eyes of men 
A message from the unknown universe. 

The city rests, if ever cities rest. 
They know not sleep. From out foul cavern- 
dens 
The sweltering, low-browed human-vermin creep 
To blistering roofs, or loll in listless groups 
About the streets. A little child has falPn 
Asleep upon the curb and lies almost 
Beneath the thousand trampling feet. Who 

cares? 
A mother tries to still a fretful babe. 
Then nods to wake aghast from a wild dream. 
A beating din, and gnomish shapes flit back 
And forth before a dreadful, glaring light. 
A furnace belches flame; a drunkard reels. 
A tall church looks sedately down and draws 
Its skirt of tombs about its feet, wishing 
To help, but still too fearful of a spot 
To lift a fallen sinner from the dirt. 
The rich have fled to seek their ease, and left 
Behind them hunger, pestilence, and death. 



[2] 



Along the beach the tide Is full and laps 
Without a murmur on the beaten sand, 
Pushing the briny rime from ocean's lip 
At each faint swell a scanty inch up shore. 
Ten legion legion teem with laugh and shout 
In dripping sport full shoulder deep, while there 
A tired head goes down unseen to seek 
Its rest, not caring how the surf may toss 
Its lifeless limbs about. Som.e swimmer, spent, 
Clings to a drowning friend and calls in vain 
For help; while farther up the seething press. 
On pleasure bent, makes merry at a clown's 
Loose jest, or wileful women lure weak boys 
To their destruction, where by night a son 
In one mad whirl unravels all the years 
Of labor that a father's patient care 
Has wrought into a priceless tapestry. 

A mighty ship glides from its dock and steams 
With courage out to sea to bring again 
Its human freight to — ^what? Excess of toil, 
Excess of vice, excess of revelry. 

Can this be all? Ah, is it all? — 

Thank God, 
The breeze has stirred at last and loosened white 
A foamy breaker on the quiet deep. 
The corntops ripple, and the hot roofs crack. 
The gay crowd pauses long enough for one 
Swift breath. — 

[3] 



Can this be all? Why strive? 
Why wed and bring an anxious pack of cares 
About our heels, if this be all? 

The breeze 
Awakes and fans the brow of wanton and 
Of saint. A stranger lifts the little child 
And seeks for it a quiet resting place. 
The mother and her babe repose serene 
In azure-lidded sleep. A good priest takes 
The drunkard in and bathes his fevered head. 
The moon goes down ; the stars come out. They 

shine 
On mountain and on sea. Above the crags 
In snow-clad peace the peaks in grandeur touch 
The sky. Out there the broad horizon dips 
And rims a circle round the ocean's verge. 

O Christ, to such a world as this you came 

And lived your message so divinely good. 

About you surged the Galilean press 

And cried for bread. Capernaum you saw 

Across the hills and wept. To you, an hour 

Ere your agony, the children sang. 

You were a man, were such a man as we! 

Your great heart stirred to all the passion of 

A sin-sick world until you doubted, too. 

If there were right or good; and all alone 

You sat beneath the stars and calmed your soul 

Amid the wilderness. Gethsemane 

You knew, and in that stillness born of God 



Sought out the way of truth and right. 

Christ, 
You were a man, the man of men, a soul 
So pure, so high, that men (O foolish men!) 
Have named you half divine. You were divine. 
All, all divine. What need for shepherds' tale 
Have we, of angel hosts proclaiming to 
The hallowed night a babe's nativity? 
What need of veil of temple rent in twain .^^ 
Can terror lurk in darkness when the soul 
For once has glimpsed the everlasting light? 
Do shining ones beside an empty tomb 
Alone reveal man's immortality ? 
Away with myths and miracles. Does not 
The existence of the universe attest 
An order and a purpose more sublime 
Than all chaotic, momentary sway 
O'er winds and waters, demons and the grave? 
Nature transcended is but nature still. 
From death itself arises life. Is God 
So weak, so erring in His will, that He 
Repents, that He can curse His work? Can 

cry 
For vengeance and for blood ? Can be appeased 
By reeking sacrifice? You came from Him. 
Thence came we all. You knew His fatherhood. 
His love; and the pure flame almost consumed 
The very flesh in which you moved. Oh, could 
We, too, but know, but see as you have seen! 
We are not cattle browsing in the field, 

[5] 



Content to rear our young, to feed, to die. 
We are not beasts that tear and rend. Like 

you, 
Within the dark we feel an impulse. We 
Would know, that we may steer our course 

aright. 
We look abroad. The surging mass cries out 
In agony to us for aid. What can 
We give.'^ What is a garment here and there.? 
A little food.'* Why should we eke existence 

out 
If we are swallowed by the deep at last.'* 

O Christ, the truth you saw, a golden thread. 
Has drawn us through all ages past, still draws 
Us on. Oh, could we know as you have known ! 
We need not then grope in the dark. Oh, did 
You really, wholly know.'* Or rather did 
You, too, not feel, and trust to Him with Whom 
Is perfect light .?^ — ^We do not know; as yet. 
We do not know ; but we can feel, can long 
For truth, can lay our heads upon the heart 
Of earth and hear its beat, can weep with it, 
Can work, can dry our tears, can sing awhile, 
Can wait. 

Those silent watchers of the night 
Whose vision sweeps the vast expanse behold 
The universe move on unerring in 
Its path. They see it move but one brief space, 
[6] 



And, seeing this, with certainty can tell 
Us where to-morrow it will be. They do 
Not need to scan its trackless course. 
Knowing a little, they can prove the rest. 

Oft have we peered into the mystery, 
Have traveled oft and oft upon the long, 
Long way that stretches ever out and on 
Before the weary sight, have learned by rote 
A stage or two, but have not grasped the truth 
That shall reveal all eons past- — to-day, 
To-morrow, and all time — ^united, one. 
Some things we know, but know in part, as yet. 
And knowing partly, cannot hail the end. 
Perhaps it is but just beyond— yet still 
Beyond. Perhaps the vision is too bright 
For human eyes that are not ready yet 
To see. One thing we know, — that we are men. 
And, being men, would read our destiny. 

O God, we would not see the shame alone! 
We, too, would catch the irisated gleam 
About us. We would feel with those who mourn. 
And not grow callous with despair, would feel 
Their woe and still have hope. O God, 
Keep us divine and living souls ! Let us 
Not sink again ! The purpose that has led 
Us through the past, oh, let it lead us still! 
Oh, let us know! No creed is broad enough, 
No faith so high that it can compass alL 
[7] 



God, work Thou in us ! Teach us to know. 
Knowing, we cannot doubt, we cannot blame. 
With Thee all things are good and purposeful, 
Are right. Teach us to know. The truth that 

in 
The past has burned goes ever brighter on 
Before. Shekinah like it leads. Oh, let 
Us learn that we may work with Thee to-day ! 
Oh, let us love! Oh, let us seek the souls 
Akin in hope to ours ! Let us be men ! 
Thou'st made us what we are ; yet led by Thee 
We can be more. O God, teach us to know ! 



[8] 



LANCELOT TO GUINEVERE 

On the day on which he first declared his love. 

To-day we have wandered together 
From morning to setting of sun — 

Shall we swear that nothing shall sever 
These hearts that now beat as one? 

I have looked in your eyes so tender 
And drunk from the fount of your soul; 

Ah, what in return shall I render — 
A promise of love never cold? 

Ah, sweetheart, the night's closing round us; 

Atremble's the fast fading west — 
Oh, tell me, the love that has bound us. 

Shall it pale and go out with the rest? 

After dark shall there come a to-morrow? 

Shall I waken for you, you for me? 
Will our love be a joy or a sorrow, 

A bitter or sweet memory? 

Ah, sweetheart, I fear the dark portal 

That closes at last for all men ; 
Change comes with the night — and, immortal, 

Shall we e'er love so wildly again? 



[9] 



O fool, thus to dally, uncertain! 

In shadow is wrapped the far pine. 
Come, Darkness, down, down with thy curtain! 

You, love, and the hour are mine! 



[10] 



AN OPIUM DREAM 

Over the languid poppy field 
The eastern breeze breathes low; 
The drowsy senses gently yield, 
The ebbing pulse-beat slow. 

Eternity and yesterday 
Are blended into one — 
No evening light to die away, 
No rising of the sun. 

Across the mountain peak there floats 

A little, milky cloud. 

The silken sail of fairy boats 

In rainbow mist ashroud. 

Row in, row out, or linger there 
Upon the rocking Nile, 
Or seek some lilied meadow where 
Soft India's women smile. 

Ah, do not move ; ah, do not stir ; 
But watch their breathing tresses. 
Ah, do not move; as tiger's purr, 
So soft are their caresses. 

Dream ever, ever — ne'er to wake; 
No thought, no plan, no will; 
Hearing the tender songs they make. 
Feeling their kisses still. 

[11] 



A CHILD'S ADDRESS TO THE DEITY 

Dear God, I cannot tell 

What wonders Thou hast wrought for me; 

I do not question Thee 

As how my path shall lead 

O'er stony cliff or into quiet dell: 

I only know that in the evening breeze 

I hear Thy voice ; 

The sky, the wood, the trees, — 

All speak to me. 

It is enough that they, my friends through 

choice, 
Have taught me of the bond of brotherhood 
That binds us to the weakest of our kind — 
To see in each some good 
That shadows the divine 
Within. 

So pitiful we are, 
So careless of our sin. 
So frail; 

Yet, loving Thee and these. 
Dear God, it cannot be 
That we shall fail. 



[12] 



ALTISSIMA 

Words are profanation. 

Of old the Israelite 

With reverence bowed his head; 

To shield from desecration. 

Enwrapped in might 

And mystery. 

He left that sacred name unsaid. 

Within the stillness of the night, 

He sought the shores of Galilee 

And worshipped there. 

How great in time the sea 

That rolls between 

That spot and where 

To-day we stand! 

Yet, up ! Look up ! far, far above ! 

Still may be seen 

Across the canopy on high. 

Writ in the language of the sky, 

Unchanged, unchangeable, the same: 

I AM. Beneath that Name 

(Oh, read and bow in awe, thou soul !) 

Upon the everlasting scroll 

Engraven standeth: Love. 



[13] 



THE VIOLIN AT EVENING 

Hush ! Primeval yearning 
Stirs in the breathless air ; 
All of the heart's deep burning, 
From pain to music turning, 
Is whispered as in prayer. 

Now merry, mazy measures. 

And madly flying feet; 
Now glowing, panting pleasures, 
The ruby-silken treasures 
Of warm lips as they meet. 

Now bird song after twilight; 

Now only purple gleam. 
As of September sky-light — 
The afterglow, the die-light. 

Of Summer's golden dream. 

O heart, O hope, O vision 
Of all things fair to be! 
Voice of the far elysian 
Beyond all time's transition ! 
Soul of eternity! 



[14] 



DAYDREAMS 

Foolish thoughts of an idle day, 

That into my fancy flit and stray, 

Of times that were and are yet to be, 

As bright as the clouds and as glad as the sea 

Out there on the rim where they meet and play. 

Ah, glad was I, as glad as they, 
Till I stopped to listen, to bid them stay. 
Till I caught the burden they whispered me. 
These idle thoughts. 

There's a throb in my pulse, try as I may 
My feverish will cannot allay, 
That rises and struggles to be free. 
To slip with the wind and the tide, the lee, 
Onward and outward and ever away, 
Since I stopped to listen to what they say, 
These foolish thoughts. 



[16] 



PRECOCITY 

A farmer's daughter six years old, 
His tenant's lad of eight. 
"I'll marry you when we grow up, 
If you will only wait." 

It was the little girl proposed 

To the reluctant youth, 
Who with swift candor shook his head 

And blurted out the truth: 

"I'd rather not promise quite yet. 
Because I love another ; 
And, if I can, when I grow up, 
I think I'll marry mother." 

Thus all our little hopes of sand 
Go trickling through our fingers. 

In wiser years, to take their place, 
A pleasant memory lingers. 



[16] 



TO MY MOTHER 

Thy tender features o'er me bend, 

Thy hand upon my brow 
Caressingly, I feel again, 

As it were now. 

Ah, there was pride in thy caress, 

The future golden-clear — 
love! that thou shouldst know distress, 

Or life be drear. 

Hope was not shattered at one stroke; 

It crumbled day by day. 
As morning after morning broke. 

Unchanging gray. 

Some plan thou hast cherished for me, dear. 

With each day's sun has set — 
My strength is less than that, I fear. 

Of other men — and, yet. 

Thy tender features o'er me bend. 

Thy breath is in my hair — 
What matters all that fate can send 

So deeper love be there! 



[17] 



REQUIESCAT 

Hush, baby, hush: let no tear be shed 

Over our slumberer here; 
But leave a kiss on her lips instead. 

Let your fingers play in her wavy hair. 

As softly now she sleeps. 
So white her throat — let a rose lie there. 

No, baby, we must not awaken her; 

Peacefully let her dream — 
Her bosom almost appears to stir. 

She was so tired, baby dear; 

But now she rests quietly. 
Kiss her good-night; we must leave her here. 

O baby, it seems my heart will break — 

Her slumber will last so long; 
Yet we must bear it for her sweet sake. 



[18] 



LITTLE GIRL 

You have broken my heart, little girl. 
With your wayward and clinging caresses. 
With your laughing blue eyes, and your tresses 
Blown out by the wind in a whirl. 

Through the glad, sunny slope of the years. 
With your mouth sweet, and dimples beguiling, 
You have broken my heart with your smiling 
From your innocent eyes stained with tears. 

I have found you a treasure of pearl 
With your wanton, bewitching excesses, 
With your wayward and clinging caresses ; 
Yet you've broken my heart, little girl. 



[19] 



I SOUGHT A PATH THAT I HAD 
KNOWN IN CHILDHOOD 

To-day I sought a path that I had known 

And loved in childhood; 
But bush and briar had overgrown 

The way, and stood 
Thick-matted where the pansies then had blown. 

The spring that once had cooled my tired brow 

Was filled with leaves and moss ; 
The little pond was empty now; 

I watched across 
The sun-baked clay the furry cat-tails bow. 

The stump where once I saw the fairy sprite 

(Alas ! I've found 
Things far more real than she have vanished 
quite!) 

Had fallen to the ground. 
And weeds had hidden it from sight. 

My castle-rock was but a bare, brown stone 

(I do not understand 
Where all its grandeur can have gone) ; 

On every hand 
Was change, and what I'd longed to find had 
flown. 



[20] 



TO THE BLUE RIDGE MOUNTAINS 

When Spotswood and his hundred knights first 
spied 

Afar thy swelling crests and drew from out 

Their scabbards every gleaming blade, a shout 
Arose as when at flood some mighty tide 
Comes rolling on the beach, and far and wide 

Its echo like the spray was tossed about. 

Then, hushed and silent, every man, though 
stout 
His heart, in awe his helmet laid aside. 

Sublime in solemn grandeur, towering where 
Thy purple summit peak on peak arose. 
Against the evening sky in regal state 
The mystic past lay couched. Before them 
there 
Millenniums lay sleeping in repose 

Too deep to heed the trumpet-call of fate. 



[21] 



JERUSALEM, ACCURSED 

Jerusalem, thou tarnished name, writ high 
Among the noblest cities of the past, 
How justly art thou now abased! At last, 
We know thee as thou art. The mighty lie, — 
That thou shalt live the glory of the sky. 
Arising from the furious, fiery blast 
Of this consumed world, to-day is massed 
And branded with tradition's shame. Defy 
The truth no longer : — ^Leaving the green sward 
And mountain slope to dwell within thy wall. 
The Jew upraised thy gaudy-templed gates 

apart 
On Zion, there to barter peace of God. 
Then like to Egypt's stinging blight did fall 
The stain of thy pollution o'er his heart ! 



[22] 



SOMEHOW 

Ah, do you remember the morning 
Long ago when we said good-bye? 

Through the mist came the rush of the river ; 
Night hovered aloft in the sky. 

So early it was that the dew, love. 

Dripped down through the leaves everywhere, 
Shaking its cold drops about us 

As we awaited the ferryman there. 

His boat came from over the river ; 

And softly, ere yet it was day. 
It bore you out to a shore, love. 

That ever seems farther away. 

I thought you were beautiful then, love, 

I think you are beautiful now ; 
But the mist has crept in between, love. 

And your beauty is altered somehow. 

The eyes that I thought would be mine, love, 
The lips that I thought were for me, 

Have suffered a change, somehow, love, 
A change that I, only, can see. 

Perhaps 'tis the mist on the river. 
Perhaps 'tis the mist in my heart ; 

Yet, I know that the day brings no clearing, 
That something still holds us apart. 
[23] 



SUMMER'S ASLEEP 

Summer's asleep on the hill. 

Lying under the trees, 

Rippled o'er by the breeze, 
Her limbs are stretched, rosy and still. 

The cattle have eaten their fill. 

The heat is ashimmer; 

The fields are aglimmer; 

The plowman goes plodding; 

Corn tassels are nodding; 

The catbird is panting 

Just where the twig's slanting ; 
Through the meadow goes sparkling the rill. 

With tired lids, listless and still. 

Cheeks redder than cherries. 

Lips stained with wild berries, 
Lies Summer asleep on the hill. 



[24] 



IT IS REST THAT I ASK 

I AM tired of living to-night, 
Tired of joys and of fears; 

Tired of love and of hate; 
Tired of laughter and tears. 

Yet, I cannot, in clasping my hands, 
Pray to the Giver of Light 

That I, too, like the hour of eve. 
Softly may sink into night. 

It is rest — only rest that I ask; 

Rest that my limbs may grow strong. 
That, resuming my burden, I may 

Greet the new mom with a song. 



[25] 



STRANGE INCENSE 

A TINY, tangled head bent down 

Within a city's gutter — 
A laughing face of tan and brown 

Amid the rubbish of the town. 

Mud-pies and broken glass all day 
Bring fairyland from far away 
To thee, sweet innocence, at play. 

But mud-pies blacken; glass gives pain; 
And laughing eyes are turned to gain 
Mid cold and hunger, snow and rain. 

God shield thee, tangled head bent down 

Within a city's gutter! 
Poor lily of the noisome town ! 

Strange incense, shed o'er stranger ground! 



[26] 



ARE WE TO BLAME? 

Beneath the canopy of night 

They touch the passerby; 
A whispered word — then lost to sight. 

Are we to blame for this? 
Are you or I? 

Within the gilded den 

The whirling dance goes round ; 

Some gay, some sad, they turn, and then- 
Are we to blame for this? 

A life in shame goes out, 

And no one questions why. 
Or cares how this was brought about. 

We cannot be to blame, 
Can you or I? 



[27] 



OCTOBER 

I HEAR the myriad murmur 
Of gently falling leaves, 
The hushed and broken sobbing 
Of Nature as she grieves, 

Not in the mad, wild wailings 
That mourn a love new slain. 
But in that calmer grief for one 
Who comes not back again. 

Her sorrow creeps upon me 
Like an opiate at last. 
And I feel a vague, deep yearning 
For an hour long since past. 

'Tis a strange, sweet melancholy, 
Untouched by a regret. 
With no longing for the future. 
No present to forget; 

Only to dream, to listen, 
Enwrapped by autumn's spell. 
Enchanted by the music 
Of the brook within the dell. 



[28] 



THE BURDEN OF CONSCIENCE 

O God ! To be born with a conscience ! 

To bear the weight of sin ! 

To feel with the lowly Jesus 

The love for men within, 

And ever to see them stumble 

And mingle with the clay 

The beauty that God has fashioned 

To grace his perfect day ! 

To see how the weak are fettered, 

By passion overthrown; 

To see the strong will mastered, 

And wild destruction sown; 

In hearts that were made for loving. 

To see there rancour hate. 

Till naught is left but sorrow 

And cursing against fate! 

O God ! To be born with a conscience ! 

To be bom with a wish to save! 

Yet ever before you yawning 

The chasm of the grave, 

And into it stricken and helpless 

To see the millions fall. 

Ere came one chance for living 

Pressed close within its wall! 



[29] 



This thing of evolution, 

These countless years of woe, 

While by in slow procession 

Eons on eons go! 

O God! To be born with a conscience! 

To feel the weight of sin ! 

And not to know the wherefore 

Of this ceaseless cry within! 



[80] 



I DO NOT FEAR THE ROUGH WIND'S 
MIGHT 

TO POLYHYMNIA 

I HAVE heard all day the lap of the waves, 

Caressing a golden shore, 
And ever in breaking they seem to say, 

"Come over, come over, come o'er." 

They promise me rest and friendship sweet; 

They tell of awaiting love; 
And they bid me sail ere the stormy gale 

Sweep furiously above. 

But I do not fear the rough wind's might; 

I dread the golden shore. 
What could love or friendship mean to me, 

If I had you no more? 

'Tis true that the waves have a luring swell. 

But I will not hear them break. 
Let me live for you; let me die for you — 

Yea, perish for your sake ! 



[81] 



THE MOCKING BIRD 

At midnight I arose. A host of stars 
Looked coldly down upon a world of snow; 
Enwrapped within a ghostly shroud of ice, 
The pines made mourning, rocking to and fro. 

A soft, sweet tremor shook the air 
And waked an echo set to summer's tune — 
Then, lo! a song that flooded all the night 
With the full glory of the August moon! 



[32] 



DRIFTWOOD AND FOAM 

Driftwood and foam — ^between and round 

about 
The rising tide comes surging in and out; 
Across the rocks the breakers race and reach, 
And rush with thunder on the hard, white 

beach 

And up the shore. 

And yestermorning, hke a sylvan lake. 
With blue-eyed smiling as if just awake. 
The sea reflected every cloud that sped 
(A snow-flecked gull with downy wings out- 
spread) 

Across the sky. 

A lordly craft, its canvas filled, at noon 
Sailed gayly out toward where the crescent 

moon 
In fading leaves a single yellow star. 
To-day among the rocks — a broken spar^ — 
Driftwood and foam. 

Driftwood and foam cast up along the shore. 
And hearts whose hopes are dead forevermore — 
A life whose gallant craft at noon set sail 
To distant port^ — the night — ^the rocks — the 
gale- 
Driftwood and foam. 
[33] 



HER LOVE 

Like to the frost on the desert sand, 
Like to the foam on the sea, 

Like to the nettle within the hand, 
Was the love that she gave to me. 



[84] 



WITH THE TIDE 

Sailing down a sunlit river 

With the bright mist on the lea ; 

Sailing down a sunlit river 
As the tide goes out to sea. 

Sailing down a sunlit river, 

Blows the light breeze from the lea ; 
Sailing down a sunlit river 

As the tide goes out to sea. 

Sailing down a leaden river, 

Gray mist creeping from the lea; 

Wrapped within a phantom river. 
As the tide goes out to sea. 

Drifting down an unseen river — 
Hark ! A voice floats o'er the lea ; 

Drifting down a silent river. 
By the tide borne out to sea. 



[36] 



BEFORE THE WIND 

Fung out, fling out our happy sail, 

And set it to the wind; 
Good cheer to greet us shall not fail, 

The harbor far behind. 

The white foam flecks our flying keel; 

The mast is forward bent; 
The bounding pulse within we feel; 

And with the spray is sent 

On high, on high, up to the sky. 

Our glad, exulting song. 
And answering to the sea-bird's cry 

Is borne the waves along. 

Away, away, both night and day 

To greet the ocean swell. 
And not a fleeting second stay 

From morn to evening bell. 

Then speed, oh, speed, for naught we heed. 

But onward with the gale; 
Wherever Neptune's wand may lead. 

We sail, we sail, we sail! 



[36] 



A VALENTINE 

The leaves were budding then, my love; 
The hills stretched green and fair; 
And with the breathing of my vow 
Mingled the balmy air. 

The leaves have fallen now, my love. 
And snow-crowned stands the hill; 
Yet warmly beats for thee a heart 
That winter cannot chill. 



[37] 



IDOLS 

In sooth, we fashion every day 
Our little gods of common clay. 
Our little gods of greed and lust, 
And store them in some niche away. 
And kneel before them in the dust — 
Our little gods in whom we trust. 

But, when, in quiet hours apart. 
The evening light steals o'er our heart. 
Our little gods on whom we call. 
Our cherished idols of the mart, 
Down from their niche within the wall. 
Like shards in fragments round us fall. 

Yet, ere the miracle of light 
Its roses casts at fleeing night. 
Our hands their labors have begun 
To set each broken piece aright. 
And build them over every one 
For worship at the rise of sun. 



[38] 



WHEN I HAVE SEEN YOUR EYES 
AGLOW 

When I have seen your eyes aglow, 
Within your hand the crimson flask, 
And heard in foolish torrents flow 
Your words, beneath the Bacchanalian mask 
Your truer self looked forth at me^ — 

And I have stood aghast 
And stricken. — Oh, the horror, love, to see 
You thus! 

With all my heart I've longed to flee 
And could not ; to keep back the tears 
I've laughed; and, as its echo came to me, 
I've sickened: in its hollow sound the jeers 

Of demons intermingled 
With all the weeping that the years 
Might bring. — O love, is this to be 
For us ? 



[39] 



LIFE'S WAY 

The way of the world is old, 

But its windings are new to me ; 

I clamber with joy o'er the wold, 

And I shout when I come to the sea. 

The longing which stirs in my heart 
Is rife with a world-old pain; 

Yet the tears which in penitence start 
Gush forth in a blinding rain. 

Love is as old as the hills ; 

Yet the passion which rises in me 
Exults and surges and thrills 

Like the tide sweeping in from the sea. 

The way of the world is old; 

But the wayside sparkles with dew 
As I watch where the flowers unfold 

And seek for life's meaning anew. 



[40] 



HIS FATHER PLANS 

Whose desk is that? — ^Why, sir. It's for my 

son; 
I'm glad you like It better than the one 
I use; but this Is good enough for me. 
Some thirty years I've had It, and, you see, 
With time I've grown attached to every blot. 
Each one recalls a case. That, sir, that spot 
Brings back the night before my maiden- 
speech — 
But I'll not give the history of each. 
Why, yes, I've fixed the office up a bit 
In hope, you see, to make It better fit 
With his Ideas. He's off at college now; 
But summer brings him home ; and I, somehow, 
Have set my heart to keep him here with me 
A while. I wanted him to study law, you see ; 
To take my place and reap the benefit 
Of all my toll ; but he Is not a whit 
Inclined to "poring over musty books." 
He'd be an engineer. Just now It looks 
As though he'll have his will ; but wait a while. 
I let him go to college (what! you smile?); 
I let him study where and what he would. 
A man must mingle with the world. He should 
Have seen a thousand things before he turns 
To his life's work. What though to-day he 
bums 

[41] 



To build a bridge? — Why, let him know how 

they 
Are screwed and riveted; and then, I say, 
To-morrow he will want to tame a horse, 
Be president, or something worse. 
The young were ever so. My plan is this 
(And, sir, I cannot see why it should go amiss) : 
To have him spend a pleasant summer here ; 
Give him enough to do — an engineer 
Or lawyer, then what difference can it make 
To him? I'll let him see that it's for his sake; 
I'll talk to him — not tease him nor command — 
Of all the good (of course, you understand?) 
To be derived. 'Twould take him twenty years 
(That he'd succeed at last, I have no fears), 
At least, to build himself a business such 
As I have ready here to give him. Much 
That I have striven for would thus be lost. 
Let him go over things with me ; the cost 
(Why, he is sensible!) must soon appear 
Too great — to have his will, a trifle dear. 
Of course, he'll take to law instead. 
This minute it has come into my head, 
Five years from now, why, sir, I can retire — 
Leave him the business, everything. — Desire 
More ? He must be off* a year or two 
For study ; — ^but there are summers — ^true. 
A man of his capacity could learn 
Much, aye, very much, let him but turn 
His head to it; and, sir, with me to show 

[42] 



Him everything, 'tcould not take long, you 

know. 
Tilt, tut, why, man, the time has long since 

passed 
When lawyers needed eloquence! At last 
The man of brains and business tact now goes 
Ahead of him who makes fine words and those 
Who waste their time in politics. He, well, 
Has sense and character. My friend, I tell 
You plainly, you can never hope to find 
A man more pleasing, or of better mind. 
Let him but set his head to it, I say. 
And he'll be worth a good, round sum one day. 
I'll win him over, never fear. Let's see — 
If you can come to have a talk with me 
Next week, he should be sitting in that chair — 
Fine eyes he has, sir, and his mother's hair — 
I am his father, sir; you'll pardon me? — 
Come in again and sit awhile ; you'll see. 



[43] 



THE BISHOP ARGUES A POINT 

What, thou hast come to me against my will! 
Have not the holy fathers told thee oft 
That this thou askest is forbidden by 
The Church? And who am I to set aside 
Its holy law? The canons of the Lord 
Must stand though earth and heaven should 

perish all. 
What need to argue more? — His rule is mild, 
You say ; He would not see disease and shame 
With leaden weight press down a guiltless 

one. — 
Thou understandest not. Did He forbear 
The shame of Pilot's hall, I ask. The cross, 
Was it too heavy to be borne by Him? 
Thus shouldst thou bear thine own with cheer- 
fulness. 
He bore it that the world might be re- 
deemed? — 
How canst thou say it was not for thine own 
Redemption that this cross has come to thee? 
Perhaps, from this same wedlock may arise 
A people's captain and a nation's judge. — 
What, what! There, too, might be an idiot 

born? — 
Perish the thought ! From foul iniquity 
Itself the Lord has reared a prophet more 
Than once. Wedlock is holy, preordained 

[44] 



From the foundation of the world. Make 

room 
For license, what vexed matron would not run 
To lay aside this holy bond? Tell me, 
What libertine but would not find a bride 
Each night, and on the morrow put away? 
To free thyself thou wouldst involve the race 
In degradation. Bars cannot come down. 
Or every sheep will flee the shepherd's fold. 
From out the great confines of time and space, 
God draws two souls together. Then the 

Church 
Unites them at its sacramental altar. 
When God has sanctioned, there can be no 

wrong, — 
Except in seeking to annul His high 
Decree. Think not of that. Your fates are 

one. 
Bear with humility thy lot ; and, if 
He strike thee on thy right cheek, turn the 

left. 
It is the law of love. — The Master said 
That man for Sabbaths was not made, but they 
For him? — ^Wouldst thou misquote the Holy 

Writ? 
For shame ! But what has that in point with 

this? 
'Twas spoken of the Sabbath. — ^What! Our 

men 
And women labor on that day? High feasts 
[45] 



Are held, and every churchman eats his fill? — 
How should we, then, commemorate the day 
On which the Master rose, if not with cheer? 
The Sabbath thou wouldst have us keep passed, 

too. 
With Jewish rites and rituals. We keep 
A Christian Sabbath in the Christian way. — 
This law might be a relic of the East, 
Perhaps, and of the time when women sold 
Themselves upon the market place, if so 
It was their lord's command.? — Perhaps 
The devil is not in thy brain, nor seeks 
To change the Scripture to his impious will! 
Enough, I'll speak to thee no more of this! 
Thou art, God wot, almost an infidel! — 
The Church has made thy life a curse to thee, 
And sets a hell to surging in thy breast? 
Thou canst not bear his blows and curses one 
More day! — Beware! I say to thee, beware! 
Better a thousand curses borne on earth 
Than once to loose the everlasting curse 
Of Heav'n. I say, beware! I'll not discuss 
For thy rebellious questioning the laws 
Of the Great Maker and the Holy Church. 
Go, lock thyself within thy chamber; pray; 
For thou art very near to being damned. 



[46] 



RAIN IN THE STREETS 

The splash of the rain on the pavement ; 

Dull treading of struggling feet; 

A torrent of mud in the gutters ; 

A rivulet dammed in the street. 

At the corner the dripping policeman 

Stands guard on his watery beat. 

The wheels of the carriages jostle, 
Scattering drops thick and brown; 
The bell of the motorman jingles — - 
A car with its curtains drawn down. 
To a world of gum-coats and umbrellas 
The sun has abandoned the town. 

In doorways groups that are pausing. 
With anxious gaze turned tow'rd the sky ; 
While newsboys crying their papers. 
And women with wet skirts drawn high, 
Old men, strangely dazed, in confusion, 
And young ones, go hurrying by. 

The crowding of men and of women, 

In sorrow, in joy, and in pain; 

The task that at daylight awaits them. 

With dark drawing homeward again; 

In the streets ever rushing and pressing; 

O'er all the gray sky and the rain. 

[47] 



AT THE CITY^S GATE 

The King sat by the gate at sunrise 

And watched the people thronging to the town. 

Upon the purple mountain fell the sunrise, 

And the harvest rippled glad on every hill. 

In his heart there beat the glory of the sun- 
shine ; 

In his pulse there flowed the gladness of the 
hills, 

As he watched the people laden with the har- 
vest 

Stream past and lose themselves within the 
town. 

Then the King arose and called unto the people ; 

Pointed outward toward the glory of the sun- 
shine ; 

Called, "Behold the gladness of the hills !" 

Yet no eye was raised to greet the sunshine; 

No shout proclaimed the glory of the hills; 

Till the evening fell, and with the purple 
shadows 

Fell a shadow like a mantle o'er the King. 

Still past him through the shadow moved the 
people. 

Nor heeded yet his cry, "Behold the hills !" 

Then the King grew angry in the twilight, 

Seized a sack and cast it to the ground. 

In amazement looked the man upon him; 

Shook his head in answer to the King; 
[48] 



Dumbly raised his burden to his shoulder, 
And passed with gray locks bent into the town. 
Then the King in anger seized another 
And strewed its golden grain upon the ground. 
In amazement looked the youth about him, 
Let the grain lie scattered o'er the ground; 
With a shout he pointed toward the valley, 
With a cry beheld the purple of the hills. 
And the King knelt down within the twilight. 
Filled again with golden grain the empty sack. 
While the youth with rapture gazed about him. 
Heeding not the King upon the ground. 
There with the purple shadows clasped about 

them. 
With the purple shadows on the ground. 
King and peasant watched the sunset; 
Then together bore their burden into town. 



[49] 



OUR MINSTREL 

TO M. E. M. 

We hear a tinkling in the dark, 
A voice so low we barely mark 
The melody that softly steals 
A little way across the fields. 
Our minstrel ! 

He plays to us a happy tune 
Of elfin sprites beneath the moon, 
Or waltzers gay who touch the hands 
Of maidens dark in southern lands. 
Our minstrel! 

He sings how lovers far away 
Send kisses passionate to say 
They think of sweethearts far more dear 
Than in the hour when they were near, 
Our minstrel! 

And, yet, before the song is done. 
Almost before it has begun. 
Our eyes are wet — we know not why — 
Our hearts are stirring with a cry. 
Our minstrel ! 



[50] 



Ah, what is it for which you plead? 
Of what is it your soul has need? 
Our pulse is answering with a throb ; 
Our voice is shaken by a sob, 
Our minstrel! 

Oh, come, nor linger at the door; 
Our hearts stand open evermore 
To bid you cease a further quest. 
To give you welcome, love's own guest. 
Our minstrel! 



[51] 



AFTER FIFTY YEARS 

I PASSED him once upon the street and marked 

him not 
Until a stranger, half in awe, whispered a 

name, 
And pointed after him, a name almost forgot; 
But at its sound a sudden throbbing swept 

along 
My pulse. He turned his face. Across the 

surging throng 
I gazed with beating heart upon the thin, firm 

lips ; 
The forehead high, o'erhung with thick white 

locks, brushed back 
As if the fierce wind of the charge still blew 

through them; 
A nose aquiver yet as when his eyes of black. 
Sweeping the ranks, each coward rooted to his 

place ; 
Pale cheeks and finely cut. With firm and even 

pace 
He moved, as firmly as upon the day he caught 
His banner on his sword, then brandished it, and 

gave 
The fierce, dread word to charge, — a man ten 

thousand men 
Had followed where the cannon's jaws had 

yawned — a grave ; 

[52] 



Then closed — a hell; whose swift descent how 

oft had brought 
Dumb terror to the foeman's heart; who had 

been born 
A demon-geniused god of war. A general when 
A fair-cheeked boy, he'd been too rashly proud 

to yield 
Or own defeat, upon that fatal April day 
Beating his captors back, still master of the 

field, 
A hero of an ^ age unconquered now as then. 
Alone, unheralded, he turned and went his 

way, — 
A simple, dignified old gentleman in gray. 



[63] 



A HYMN OF CONQUEST 



The nations have builded them navies 

To battle for the deep; 
Their armies, numbered by millions, 

Eternally vigils keep. 

And mothers have lifted their babies 
To see the gay squadrons go by, 

Have praised the gleaming banners 
As they flaunted beneath the sky. 

And poets have sung of the captains 
And the honors that they have won. 

Of the glory of the battle 
Beneath the noonday sun; 

Have sung of the glory of conquest. 
Forgetting the carnage and slain. 

Forgetting the widowed mother 

And the orphan brought forth in pain. 

They have sung the proud returning 

Of the triumphal car. 
Forgetting the greed and passion 

That breed relentless war. 



[54] 



They have called it patriotism 
And laureled the victor's brow, 

When shame should have filled the rulers 
And caused their heads to bow. 



II 



The nations have builded their navies 
And conquered the restless deep ; 

Their armies, guarded by thousands. 
Lie down on their arms to sleep. 

Oh, when will they wake to their folly? 

Oh, when will come the day 
When the sword will rest in its scabbard 

And the musket be laid away; 

When the strong, no longer oppressors. 

Shall champion the weak. 
And each in the good of the other 

His own best good shall seek; 

When none shall cry for mercy ; 

When justice shall hold sway 
From the paling of the morning star 

To the rise of a new day; 

When the nations shall cease their strivings, 

And each be unto each 
As a true and loyal brother. 

Living the gospel they preach; 

[55] 



When men, their souls untrammeled, 
Shall seek the good they crave; 

When joy shall crown their labors, 
Returning what they gave? 

Ill 

Let the nations build them their navies 
From the south to the polar star; 

Aye, let them gather their armies 
And scatter them afar. 

Rejoice in the might of the battle! 

Rejoice in the day yet to be 
When sham shall be stripped of its tinsel 

And the people from ignorance free! 

The day of triumph and conquest, 
But stainless of murderous gore. 

When the conquered march forward in 
phalanx. 
Strewing their flowers before! 

Let mothers proclaim to their children 
The victories their fathers have won. 

And let the poets sing them 

Of the fight 'neath the noonday sun ! 



[56] 



How their prowess has strengthened com- 
merce 

And throttled monstrous war, 
And given hopeful plenty 

Such as the earth never saw! 

Let the nations build them their navies 

And bid destruction cease; 
Aye, let them gather their armies 

In universal peace! 



[67] 



THERE HANGS A VEIL 

Between my soul and yours there hangs a veil 
That I have striven oft and oft to clutch 
And rend; but ever at the slightest touch 
It parts like airy gossamers that sail 

O'er morning meadows; yet I ne'er break 

through 
To where there stands the very inmost soul 
of you. 

Beneath the noonday sun a darkness falls 
On us ; you see me dimly and my smile 
Is deeply shadowed, though my heart the 
while 

Is all aflame with love. My spirit calls 
Aloud; yet, in the darkness wildly tossed, 
Only the echo reaches you, its meaning lost. 

Ah, this for which we long — ^to stand before* 
Each other with our highest thoughts re- 
vealed. 
The pain and striving of our lives unsealed, 
Our love with all its precious, tear-stained 
store, — 
Must be denied us now. But wait; within 

the blue 
Of ethers yet unknown I will return to you. 



[58] 



PERE 



No, no. You must not call me generous; 
You must not say that I have always placed 
Myself behind, and thought alone of others. 
You could not read my thoughts ; you could 

not know 
That in each little kindly act I pleased 
Myself, and sought through all, in all, my gain. 
How many years I've drunk, rejoicing, your 
Sweet praise, until at times my spirit, light 
With this clear wine, has mounted high, far 

higher 
Than is meet that men should soar. 

Not so to-night. 
The New Year comes— the last, perhaps, that 

I 
Shall see. With this old year I am 
Resolved to lay aside deceit, to stand 
Before you as I was and am. I've prayed, 
Ah, God ! I've prayed, nor has there yet come 

light; 
But still it seems the time to speak. I know 
That I've been wrong to seek to change your 

love 
And fashion it against your will, by gentle 
Craft to lure your heart across the gulf 
That lies between us, to make you think 
My love was as your own, and free from taint 
[59] 



Of selfishness; yet wrong because I knew 
Not what was right or best. I've sought, and, 

when 
I've found no answer, gone the same old way 
Because that way was sweet. I am too old 
To be misled by passion. Eighty years 
Is nigh to death; yet not so nigh that love 
Before his icy presence should be chilled 
And flee. We shall not meet again; therefore 
I trust myself to-night to tell you all. 
It will not harm you now to know. Perhaps 
'Twill make your life the sweeter, looking back, 
To know how richly you have blessed me. 
It is my debt ; I owe you this. At heart 
I've robbed you of your love and in its place 
('Tis all that I can offer), this. 
There was a time when telling what I now 
Must tell had been a joy unspeakable. 
That time has passed long since. To-night it 

is 
A duty, not a satisfaction; 
A duty that I cannot shirk because 
There is no reason longer for concealment. 

You remember when you came. The rose was 

in 
Your cheek, and you were glad in the fresh 

glow 
Of twenty summers, — a being 
Beautiful to look upon, so fair you seemed 
[60] 



Not of this earth, — and I was strangely stirred. 
I watched you at your daily task and saw 
Your soul was fairer than your angel face. 
I heard you call me "Pere," as though you, too, 
Had been my child; I felt your sweet good- 
night 
Leave burning impress on my brow, when you 
With those whose very blood was drawn from 

mine 
Came at the hour of rest to wish bright dreams 
And slumber undisturbed. And thus went by 
A happy, painful year. 

Then you were gone. 
I wandered through the cotton-field and down 
Beside the swamp, and the thrush sang and the 

catbird's 
Silver fluting shook through the mellow evening 

air; 
And I sank down in the tall grass and hid 
My face within my hands and prayed and 

waited ; 
And, while I sat, there was a little rustle, 
And Lydia was beside me, looking anxious, 
Her bonnet fallen aside and berry-stains 
Around her gentle mouth ; and then, because 
I knew she loved you well, I let her coax 
My secret from me. She did not weep. 
Or tell me I was wrong to let your love 
Rest in my heart beside that sacred love 

[61] 



Which death had sealed with lasting benedic- 
tion, 
But put her arms about my neck, and looked 
Into my eyes so tender, wistfully, 
I could have wept to see her so much grieved. 
We walked together till the twilight fell. 
And then came home. That night before she 

went 
To bed, I saw her take a lamp and stand 
Awhile before the portrait there, and then 
With tear-stained eyes pass on. Oh, well I 

knew 
I did that memory no violence. 
But yet it gave me pain that she should think 
I had forgot her mother and the happy years 
We'd passed together. That night I could 
Not sleep. So when the dawn paled in the 

east, 
I arose and walked abroad, resolved to wait. 
You were too glad, too young, to make of you 
An old man's nurse; for so, indeed, I thought 
That it might be, if I could win your love. 
And if I could not; if you, too, should feel. 
Like Lydia, that I wronged you and that 

other ; 
If your laugh should be a moment stayed and 

tears 
Should cloud your radiant eyes ; if you should 

cease 

[62] 



To think of me as pere, and my love should 

stand 
Between us as a barrier — then that — 
Ah, I could wait. — My heart was lighter when 
I reached the house; but Lydia's troubled face 
Oppressed me. All through the busy hours. 
Each time she passed I longed to clasp her to 

me 
And to stay her fears ; but then I lacked the 

strength. 
O love, I needed twilight with its blessed calm 
Upon my soul, that I might speak as if 
My speaking were no pain. Rebellious noon 
Is weak in its proud strength; when in the sun 
All things send back a glow, 'tis hard without 
Some sting of bitterness to think yourself 
Denied, and others blessed. So, love, I waited. 
With the evening Lydia came, and quietly 
We sat together. I told my resolution. 
The while she was so still I thought almost 
She had not heard, till like an autumn gust 
A sob broke from her, and her eyes o'erflowed. 
And thus I came to know her grief had not 
Been for herself. You would be married soon. 
(Forgive me, if in what I tell I bring 
Old sorrows back anew. I do not wish 
To pain you or to steal from you your tears.) 
You would have told me long ago ; but she 
Had held you back because she saw and wished 
To spare me this from your own lips. So kind. 



So good, she was and is, I think sometimes 

There is an angel in the house, and awe 

And holy thankfulness o'erpower me. 

She bade me write and wish you every joy 

And all true happiness ; and from that day 

She set herself to do all things to make 

Your life more rich, because she loved you. 

But more because she knew it pleased me well. 

God blessed us with abundance, and I counted 

It a gift divine, a sacred trust, sent 

That she might use it for your good. The 

ways 
Of Providence are strange; what though I 

sought 
The wherefore and the why of things — 
It was not thus that I might wring from heaven 
All my soul's desire. — Nay, rather in the dark- 
ness 
Did I listen for a whisper, that I might answer 
To His voice, "Lord, here am I. Oh, speak!" 
Yet, when there came a message saying he 
Was dead, my heart stood still accusingly. 
Had the All-Knowing Spirit read my wish 
And granted this, my secret, inmost thought 
I had so struggled to suppress? And would 
He give you back to stand before me in 
Your grief, and let your tears reproach me, 

though 
Your lips should speak no word? I had not 
loved 

[64] 



You rightly, or your happiness had been 
Mine, too ; your grief, my grief. But now my 

heart 
Was glad and beat exultingly against 
High Heaven, shouting, "She will come to me, 

she will come !" 
I was no longer old — for what, when love 
Goes coursing through the brain, are three 

score years? — 
Perhaps I was half mad; I cannot tell; 
For the old hunger, waking, would not be sup- 
pressed. 
They say that passion is the slave of youth 
And follows only where her master treads. 
It is not so. To me she clung when youth 
With tired step had wandered down the hill, 
When just the echo of his song was left 
To tell how far he'd fled. — You came. Where 

once 
The surf had rolled and thundered, lay a beach 
So calm that passion there were desecration. 
I loved you; oh, I loved you. But your soul 
Was wrapped about with veiled mystery 
As some fair shrine, and sorrow was its vestal. 
Ah, once I found you all alone and weeping. 
I would have caught you in my arms and drawn 
You close and closer, but something held me 

back. 
The voice within me woke and whispered, 
"Wait ; not yet. This ground is holy ground." 

[65] 



You saw my heart was moved and thought that 

I 
Was troubled with your sorrow. You remem- 
ber 
How you put your arms about me, said 
That I must not be grieved for you, that you 
Would be a brighter child, — at least, that you 
Would try. My heart swelled mightily within 

me 
And robbed my tongue of speech. I dared not 

touch you. 
Dared not breathe the air you breathed. 

Somehow — 
I know not how — I put you from me ; fled 
Into the wood and hid me till the dark 
Had fallen, till the wildness was all past. 
O love, forgive me if it seems I have 
Not borne my burden patiently. IVe waited 
Long, so long, for this ; and counting o'er the 

years 
To-night takes from them half their bitter- 
ness. — 
Since then H has not been hard. The pain has 

gone — 
All gone; and in your blessed presence 
All the purity and beauty of your life 
Have been my portion. It has been my com- 
fort 
To be near you, just to love you and to know 
That you were happy. 

[66] 



Then there came your art ; 
And through the years, long lengths that never 

seemed 
To end, but ever swept us on and on. 
Although afar a mighty murmur rose 
And swelled forebodingly, it was enough 
To know that you were there; naught else I 

heeded. 
Yet oft of late a sadness has been on me; 
For I have felt the hour of parting near 
And known not how it might be at the last; 
But now that I have told you, all seems right 
And well. — ^You shall be great. — Think of your 

art 
And live for it, untrammeled by an old 
Man's weakness. — Nay, do not sob so — hear 

me speak. 
You've been so much to me, so much; I still 
May claim what you would give a father, 
The right to love you and to help you. 
Yes, kiss me if you will, and press your wet 
Cheek close to mine ; for when you come again. 
You will not find me here. — God keep you, 

child — 
Nay, let me see you smile again. — The New 
Year's come. Its richest blessings be for 

you.— 
Another kiss. — My child, my love, good-night. 



[67] 



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